A/N: This is the Havoc story. I know I said I would be doing the twins next, but this just wouldn't let me alone. It's not my favorite, but I've been re-working it for so long (I wrote it a day after I posted "Normality Is Relative"), I think if I don't let you read it now, I never will. I promise next chapter will be the twins.

Save the Dogs of War

After Annie and I were engaged, Jai Wilcox and I reached a sort of co-habitation that could almost be called friendship, not in a small part after a very drunk Jai tried to kiss me (I don't think I have to mention how embarrassing that was for both of us, despite it being rather flattering on my end) and I realized that there was no way he was at all attracted to my fiancé. The mutual respect was officially cemented when the recently promoted new director of the DCS, Jai Wilcox, offered me the position of head of the seventh floor's tech ops five years ago.

That being said, however, sometimes, like now, I think Jai asked me as some sort of punishment.

Don't get me wrong, the pay is almost twice as much as I was getting back in the DPD (which, considering, isn't all that much, but I knew that going into government employment) and I actually have an office with four walls and a lock, plus four techs at my beck-and-call. But there are days…

I slump onto a bar stool at Allen's. I haven't been out of the office for almost thirty straight hours and as much as I want to get home to kiss my wife and kids, I doubt they'd been too pleased about me waking them up a few short hours before they have to get to school.

"You look like crap," a familiar voice a couple of stools to my left says.

"I'm just guessing here, but you probably don't look to hot yourself," I shoot back, turning to grin sleepily at my DPD replacement in the tech ops booth.

Greg scoots down the bar to sit next to me. "Yeah, I guess I do. I never really understood how much you had to do until they gave me your job."

I laugh and feel for the beer I heard the bartender serve me. "Welcome to management!" I tip my bottle to him and Greg clanks his against it. We both take a swig.

"How's my godson?"

I turn to face him again, having drifted out for a moment. "Good. He rewrote his sister's pad to show only the binary codes yesterday." I can't help but smile into my beer. When I last spoke to Annie just after they ate dinner at seven, Nora was still refusing to talk to her brother.

Greg whistles. "How'd he manage that?"

I shrug. "As if I know. Tom won't tell me." I have a pretty good idea, but I'm still thinking about it.

"How's Annie? The kids?" Greg asks suddenly.

"They're all good. Annie teaching two more classes this semester, so she's been busy. How's Melinda?"

Melinda is Greg's girlfriend. She's not CIA, but she is law enforcement. FBI, if I remember correctly, cyber crime division. They met, coincidently enough, at DataTech when they were both scouting for recruits. Rumor has it they tried to recruit each other, but I've never been able to confirm that. They moved in together two years ago, but they've been dating for almost five. Stu and I have a bet going for when they'll make it official. Come to think of it, my predicted month is coming up.

"She's been a bit depressed, actually, so she's visiting her mother."

My ears twitch and I face Greg full on. "What'd you do?"

"Hey! Why do you assume I did something?" Greg answers indignantly. I don't have time to answer before he says, "For your information, she's depressed because they're putting down her favorite bomb-sniffer."

"Bomb sniffer? I thought she worked in cyber."

"She does. You remember Janet, right? The one Stu made me ask out for him?" I get a flash of Stu going on and on about a hot fed during the last barbeque of the summer. I nod and he continues. "It's Janet's dog and they're both really sad about it."

I'd forgotten Melinda's best friend was in the bomb squad. "Why are they putting it down?"

I hear Greg shrug. "All I know is Melinda says it's a ridiculous reason to kill an innocent being. Personally, I don't think it's all that innocent. It always makes me sneeze."

I snort. "A crime worth capital punishment then?"

Greg's beer sloshes around as he finishes it. I hear him gesture for another. "Course it is."

I take another swig of my own drink as an idea starts to take shape in my mind. "When's the date?"

"A week, I think. Why?"

I shrug and finish off my drink. I pay my tab and unfold my cane. "Just wondering. What breed is it, do you know?"

"German shepherd," Greg answers as I head to the door.

~OOOOO~

I stand in the doorway of my youngest children, listening to their even breathing. They're going to be seven soon. One of them, Benji I'm almost positive, groans in his sleep and I jerk forward into the room to check on him, but Jake, his twin, turns over on the bottom bunk, possibly disturbed by my sudden movement. I decide not to risk two sleep-deprived bottles of mischief and gently shut the door, silently telling them goodnight.

I tiptoe passed Nora's closed door and undress as quietly as I can before levering myself next to my beautiful wife. Almost at once, I feel her snuggle up to me. "I missed you," she mumbles into my ear.

I smile slightly, glad she's relatively awake. I turn to face her and kiss her gently on her forehead. "I thought you'd be asleep. I didn't wake you, did I?"

Annie shakes her head against my chest. "I was waiting for you."

"Oh, if I'd known that, I wouldn't have spent so long talking with Greg at the tavern."

"Did he have anything interesting to say?"

"Melinda's best friend is losing her partner."

Annie sits up, knocking my hand off her back. "What?"

I pull her down again. "Her dog, love, not a person."

"Still," Annie replies, lying back down on my chest so that I can hold her.

We lay there in silence for a while, listening to each other breathing and waiting for sleep to come. After a few minutes, I whisper, "Annie-sweetie?"

"Hmm?" Annie exhales, almost asleep.

"Do you think the kids are ready for some responsibility?"

"They're too young to drive." Annie's voice is so heavy with sleep, I almost don't catch it. Almost before she finishes the sentence, I know she's asleep. I wrap my arms tighter around her and kiss the top of her head once more.

~OOOOOO~

The layout hasn't changed much since I left. I nearly run into a couple of chairs, but nothing major. It's still fifty-seven feet (plus a couple desks) at nine-thirty from the main entrance.

"You guys actually working?" I ask, sliding open the door to the tech ops.

"Someone has to while you play with your seventh floor toys," Stu replies from his desk.

I laugh and grope around for Greg's chair, which should be somewhere in front of me. I find it and sit down. There's a slight envious undertone to my not-really former subordinate's voice, but I know he's joking. This is the guy who, with his best friend (a.k.a. Greg), adapted one of the newest projection-screen computers to my needs for Christmas a few years ago. I'm still thanking them for it. Before I must have looked pretty pathetic using the old flat screens when all the other techies in my department were using the holo-screens.

"Hey, where's your boss? I need to ask him something."

"Which one?" Stu tosses what sounds like an empty chip bag into the trashcan next to me. It actually lands in the basket for once.

"Greg."

"Behind you."

"What?" I spin my chair around. How had he been able to sneak up on me? I'm getting rusty. Yet another reason why I should spend more time at home with the kids. There's nothing like running after rambunctious boys to sharpen the senses.

"What'ch'a doing in my seat? Shouldn't you be upstairs playing with your toys?" Greg says as a greeting.

I grin and lean back into the chair. "Your replacements can hold the fort for fifteen minutes without blowing anything up."

"It still takes four guys to do what we do," Stu shoots back. "And I never actually blew up anything important," he adds to his computer.

Greg and I tactfully ignore his mumblings. "You needed to ask me something?"

"Yeah." I replace my smile for something more serious. "Last night you mentioned Melinda's friend?"

"Yes," Greg draws out his confirmation. I wonder if he remembers all of our conversation. Who knows how long he stayed after I left.

"Any way I could get a hold of her?" I didn't get a chance to continue my talk with Annie this morning, but the way I see it, it doesn't hurt to ask.

"Why? Annie getting too tough?" Stu calls.

I spin around, outrage sparking before I realize he's just joking. I tell myself to relax. "Wouldn't you like to know?" I force myself to joke back.

"I can ask Melinda, but you know what? Melinda's wanted to talk to Annie for a while; it might be easier to just come over for dinner tomorrow night. You free?"

I have to think about it. Tomorrow's Wednesday, and that means soccer for Tom and judo for the twins, but our neighbor usually drives Tom to practice with her son and the judo class ends at seven. "I think we can do it. I'll have to talk with Annie though."

"Whipped, man, whipped!" Stu calls at my back as I slid the office door closed after Greg agrees.

I open it a little and smile as I say, "And you wish you were too!" I walk away before he can rebut.

~OOOOO~

"Annie!" Melinda squeals as soon she opens the door the next night. She pulls my wife away, leaving me alone to find my way into the kitchen. I guess she assumes I've been to the house enough times to know where to find Greg. She's right.

"Greg?" I call, walking into the kitchen.

"Hey Aug. Wanna beer?" Greg replies, his voice coming from behind what I assume is the door of the kitchen fridge. "Here." He offers me a cold bottle of light beer-the only kind Melinda will let him drink in the house-and I take it gratefully.

"So, who's here?"

"Just you guys, and Melinda's friend, Janet. Stu's on a date and Jim said his mother wants him to clean his room." We both chuckle a bit into our beers.

I always thought it was a TV show stereotype that the computer-whizzes live in the family basement. Then I found out most of my fellow desk-jockeys still have their mother doing their laundry. Greg must be laughing for a completely different reason, because I know for a fact that before he and Melinda moved in together, he slept in the attack.

"I've got to check the steaks." Greg taps my hand and I take his elbow so that he can lead me outside to the back porch.

"It's a little chilly for an outside grill, isn't it?" I pull my jacket closer around myself to ward off the brisk Virginia February-air. The sun went down a while ago and it's getting cold.

"Suck it up, man!" Greg replies, closing the grill with a loud clang that makes me flinch.

"It's—" I start, but I'm rudely interrupted. Something large and short smashes into the back of my legs, knocking me forward toward the grill. "Ahh!" I yelp, rather unmanly, and in an effort to avoid the hot coals, ungracefully collide with Greg.

I regain my balance, and I'm trying to ignore my crushed ego when Greg starts to laugh. While I'd rather him laugh than have him mention my girlish cry to Stu, he could at least tell me what happened.

"I guess I forgot to mention Havoc," Greg sputters through his laughter. Really, it's not that funny.

"Havoc?" Almost at once, the thing that nearly killed me moves and I feel something cold, wet, and oddly squishy touch my hand. At least this time I have enough of my wits to hide most of my surprise.

"Janet's dog. She told Melinda she didn't want to leave it alone so close to 'the day'."

I follow Greg's footsteps back into the house while sharp clacking nails follow me. I do my best to ignore the animal. "Steaks are almost done!" Greg shouts, much too close to my eardrum for comfort.

"The potatoes are in the pot!" Melinda shouts back from the direction of the den.

"What do you want us to do with them?"

"Mash them!" Melinda replies, still in the den. "We're talking!"

There's a moment of silence before Greg turns to me. "Can you make mashed potatoes?"

To tell the truth, I've never been too good in the kitchen. Sure, I can make some dishes fit for kings, but before Annie and her sister's recipes, I lived mostly on take-out and spaghetti. "Just add milk and smash, right?"

"I guess." I hear Greg shrug, and I take the outstretched masher.

All the while I'm mashing, the dog, Havoc, is panting next to me.

"What could they possibly be talking about?" Greg asks after a while, his voice strained from trying to pry open a bottle of wine.

I put down the milk and hold out my hand for the wine. He grumbles before passing over the bottle. "Probably about us," I reply, popping the cork easily. I grin as I give it back.

"I could have done it," Greg says as a thanks. "What would they be saying about us?"

I put the last of the seasonings I think Danielle, Annie's sister, uses in the potatoes before turning to him. "You want me to listen in, don't you." It's not a question.

"You are the ex-agent."

I have to grin. "Fine, but you owe me, especially if they're talking about something boring."

"'Course. I'm going to go check on the meat."

"Chicken," I mumble to the dog, which, by the way, is still glued to my side, waiting to trip me.

~OOOOOO~

I have two ways to do this. I could just walk into the den and sit next to my wife, but that might be risky. They might change their conversation, or worse yet, make me contribute. The second option is safer, but runs a bigger chance of being caught. That thought makes up my mind. I haven't gotten a good, old-fashioned adrenaline boost since Annie left the CIA, or, at least, a rush that doesn't involve the kids.

If I remember correctly, the den is down the hall from the kitchen if you go through the door on the far right wall. The double doors are paneled glass, which means no listening at the keyholes, but Melinda usually keeps them open, so that shouldn't be an issue.

I unfold my cane, not to use (it would make too much noise), but as a support in case I need a quick excuse—Annie would never believe that I was just trying to find them without it being open—and inch my way to the wall.

I trace my fingertips along the wall, stopping when my gut tells me I shouldn't go any farther. I crouch down, almost knocking into the hall table, but, remembering it from a previous collision, manage to avoid it. The walls are pretty thick, but the open door combined with my acute hearing keep me from missing much.

"I have noticed he's been a bit clumsier," Melinda is saying. My ears perk up. I bump into one chair, maybe a futon or two, and suddenly I'm clumsy? "But I thought that was just old age."

Now I'm old and clumsy! Talk about a sucker-punch to the gonads!

"He's still relatively young, isn't he?" Annie asks. Why she asks, I don't know. How can any guy that keeps up with her not be young? And what's with all this "relatively" crap? I'm only forty-four. If I were still a field-agent, I'd have a good couple of years left in me!

"That just makes it worse!" Janet cries. Wait, why is Janet crying? She barely even knows me. "He can still do his job!"

"But doesn't he need 20/20?" Of course not! I'm the head of the top technical division in the Agency, like hell I can't work! Who does this woman think she is? I make a mental note to tell Greg (tactfully) that his girlfriend's sight-ist.

"He's never had 20/20 and that didn't stop them from hiring him in the first place," Janet replies. My eyebrows scrunch together on their own accord. How did Janet know I wore glasses before Iraq? How much do women talk when the guys are out of the room? No wonder men were so hesitant to hire women; they can't keep secrets during girl-talks!

I miss Janet's next statement because I'm too busy thinking about all the bed-talk that might very well be common knowledge among this gaggle of women. Surely Annie didn't tell them about—Oh please God! I repress a shudder.

"How long's he got?"

Someone pulls another tissue out of a box, and there's a lot of rustling. "It's scheduled for Monday," Melinda replies to Annie's question.

A sudden, gripping fear ripples through me. What happens Monday? How would Melinda know what's going to happen to me? Did Greg tell her something? He must have.

Another thought threatens to cut off my air: What if the reason he was at the bar that night was because he just got the news? What had he said? His voice comes back to me. I never really understood how much you had to do until they gave me your job.

What if he hadn't meant my job at the DPD? What if he'd been drinking out of remorse? He would be my logical replacement, what if the higher-ups had decided that I was too much of a hassle? All my computers have to have special software; things have to be a certain way. What if Wilcox decided I'm not worth the bother? What will I do? Annie doesn't make enough money teaching to support the family alone!

The dog clicks past me, panting lightly as it passes and turns into the den.

I hear the back door open, and Greg placing something on a counter. "Steaks are done! Come and get it, ladies!" His call drowns the women's next words.

I focus my attention back on them just in time. I scramble to my feet and wipe all terror off my face, and pretend to have just stopped on my way to get them.

"If only there were a way to save him," Annie's saying. My heart lifts for a moment. It's about time Annie came to my rescue.

"I would if I could, but the rule is only one at a time."

"What—Oh, hello, darling," Annie interrupts herself. She gives me a kiss and offers to lead me to the dining room, but I shake my head. I have to prove I'm not clumsy.

I hear Annie shrug. She returns to her discussion as if I'm not even there. "What if someone else could help? Is it possible?" I freeze. Here it is, the moment of truth.

"I suppose, but who would do it?"

Annie turns around to speak to me. "Honey?" Oh no, her tone is begging. She's going to ask me who might be able to help us. I gulp. I open my mouth. "How would you like a dog?"

My cane reverberates (I might have been a bit careless and swung it too hard) against the table as it suddenly clicks. I'm not getting fired! I'm not useless! What a relief!

"What is, Sweetie?"

Wait, had I said that out loud? Quick, cover up. "I haven't," I rack my brains, "gotten the twins a birthday present."

"Excellent. Janet, we'll take him."

"Thank you!" Janet hugs Annie tight enough for her to give a slight hiccup of air. In my delirium of relief, I laugh and I find myself the next recipient of a bone-crushing hug. At the same time, a cold, wet, slightly squishy nose bashes itself into my rear-end, and I realize the implications of what Annie and I have just agreed to.

Oh God, a house with four mini-geniuses, one over-worked professor, and two blind guys. This is going to be fun.

A/N: Please tell me if this was okay. I hope I didn't make it too choppy. I was especially tentative with making Havoc extremely near-sighted, but I couldn't resist the identity screw-up, no matter how cliche. Please review.